The Gravity that Even Pulls Down Angels 天使でも下に引っ張る重力
by Master of Shiawase Punch
Summary: If even an angel can not resist Earth's carnal temptations, then who can? The corruption of Heaven's divine members escalates as Sariel ventures to Japan in order to destroy the Dark Lord Satan and instead gets caught up in a romance-driven escapade involving the traditional custom of Japanese matchmaking: omiai. [Contains 'fictional' background on Heaven. Reviews are appreciated.]
1. Transubstantiation

**Tenshi demo shita ni hipparu juuryoku/天使でも下に引っ張る重力**  
**(The Gravity that Even Pulls Down Angels)**

**So I got tired of the typical rancid bull manure that rots around this part of FanFiction. It's all Maou-centric jazz; no one likes Sariel. Well, I finally did something about it because Sariel just happens to be my favorite Hataraku Maou-sama character (as well as Alsiel; they share No. 1). I don't wanna HEAR IT. I already know I have a serious problem being infatuated with a short, perverted, sorry excuse for an angel.**

**And so, although most people won't like it, I'm posting this story. It's half serious, half funny, so that makes it seriously funny.**

**I'm trying to be accurate with details, but not necessarily accurate with time flow. It doesn't necessarily adhere to the HMS timeline because…it's not really important. I'm kinda adding in my own story, but might not blatantly take place between such-and-such event. Since there isn't much info on Heaven, I'm kinda making stuff up. I'm also adding in a few original characters, since Heaven doesn't really have many… The most important ones are Camiel (who is a girl) and Uriel. There's one other character, but she's merely for plot development.**

**This story incorporates _omiai_ (or _miai_). It's a sort of matchmaking service that's available in Japan. It's similar to arranged marriage but...not exactly. Look it up on Wikipedia.**

**I use a LOT of "angel talk" based off of Judeo-Christian angelology. It's not all 100% accurate, but I wanted a strong basis, so I used a lot of lingo that may be foreign to some. If it sounds funky, just look it up. You might learn something. Also, the angels' behavior is akin to that of innocent children. So, handholding and hugging and little kisses don't really mean romantic love, but showing innocent affection between people. Just thought I'd clear that up.**

**I appreciate reviews, but goodness, don't give me some stupid pointless drivel like "THERE'S NOT ENOUGH (insert character here)". I will be so upset (not really).**

**So, without further ado, welcome to my funtastic story.  
****Kelsey**

* * *

PROLOGUE

_Log of Hours, A Record to the Holy Seraph of the Most High  
__Day 1, a Thursday of the Earth-Month July  
__Current time: 21:38:49_

_An Account of the Transportation of Heavenly Property and Members, as told by Potentate Camiel of Powers and Virtues:_

_I imagine feeling rain for the first time is akin to a human newborn taking in its first breath. Except, that I won't forget it as the infant does. I only know of such human phenomena (re: birth) from what I've heard from the guardian angels, but I imagine it that way._

_It came without warning, as a torrent, blasting the pavement like so many brittle bullets, each drop shattering and joining the others in collections of small pools and puddles. I was spellbound. It soaked through my cloak, through my hood, and my hair was plastered to my cheeks. But my skin breathed. It felt cool and warm all in one instant, the cold water sending a frenzy of new sensations across my waterlogged body. We don't have rain in Heaven._

_I took the moment to stare upward into the street light, blindingly (and stupidly, I'm sure, from an observer's perspective) reaching beyond the light's limits and towards the dark void of night, only seeing the drops a split second before they burned into my eyes. We don't have pain in Heaven either. This is a strange experience. I suppose there is "pain" in order to make me blink—to keep the water from slamming into my eyeballs—but my curiosity was much stronger than the pain that was meant to prevent any further damage to my sight. Human organs seem to be weak and sensitive; this requires more experimentation._

_I will end my own observational anecdotes about the Human Condition and offer information specific to this journey: We took a rest for half of an hour of earth time. I'm used to the energy requirement it takes for transport, as a frequenter of such accompaniments between Heaven and Earth. I'm also well acquainted with the initial Transformation that all Heavenly beings must go through in order to attain a proper human image and persona. The transition was harder for Archangel Sariel, who had never even considered such travels until mere days ago, and who required immediate assistance in order to successfully thrive as a creature of the Earth. His inability to function in a human body is remarkable. The many complexities of human nature and their effect on us Members of Heaven have yet to be fully witnessed and studied, as our descent and mingling with the human race as of late is intensive, as well as extensive._

_A detailed report will be filed and relayed promptly upon my return. Please accept this as a temporary summary of our travels._

* * *

**CHAPTER 1. TRANSUBSTANTIATION**

Heaven. In the imagination of humans, Heaven materializes as a large cluster of clouds; an expanse of white; tangible fluff and rays of sun. Enchanting choirs of angels—dressed in elaborate gowns, adornments, and huge feathered wings—are expected to sing and revel in God's presence, yesterday, today and forever. Typically, they are imagined with lutes, harps, and other sweet sounding instruments, all harmonizing to deliver a perfect melody.

There is no change. There is no interruption. Humans on earth _die_, and then they go to Heaven, and their souls become angels.

"Do they really _believe_ that?"

"Yes, most do."

Archangel Sariel laughed heartily, his boyish giggle carried on the breeze like the tinkling of wind chimes. He found it all to be absurd enough that he carried on like that for several moments as he sat in the long yellow-green grass, every blade bowing to the will of the wind.

"I can't believe that they believe something so…juvenile. It's like a children's book!"

Potentate Camiel calmly closed the report she was holding and smoothed her hand over the cover, beaming at it fondly. "Indeed, it is. Look around, do you see a cloud in sight?"

Both looked up at the periwinkle sky. It was completely vacant.

"Not one," the archangel said. "And where is your harp, Camiel? I've heard you're actually quite musical."

"I'm not limited to human instruments."

"Bingo!"

He laughed again, this time taking her hand in his and falling back into the soft ground, pulling her down alongside him. His aqua-blue hair mingled with the grass as he continued to lie there, stretching on nature's bed.

"Just as this place is not limited by human definition," he said finally, just as Camiel's eyes were almost closed. They fluttered open suddenly.

"Thank God," she yawned. She felt him lace his fingers with hers, squeeze her hand, and then sit up again after a few moments.

"Thank you for sharing your afternoon with me. You're impeccable with your collection of information and data."

"My pleasure."

"It's about time," he sighed, digging his toes into the spongey earth, the grass flattening beneath his feet. The ground cover appeared to separate and yield as if it was allowing him to do as he pleased with it. "I suppose I'll get going?"

The other didn't have to be persuaded, and she stood. "I'll be sitting in as well."

They began the short walk across a field of soft grass blades colored in a dazzling prismatic emerald, unlike any color visible on an earthly spectrum. The sky did the same: its vibrant blue, deep yet soft like old wise eyes, seemed to break into other hues and saturations, dancing and flashing around the base color. The grass, the trees and any creatures that lurked and walked and frolicked were all alive _beyond_ normal biological functioning. The unseen world of cellular growth had a second, underlying layer holding its existence together: that of _knowing_, a subconscious understanding of what its purpose was, what it was meant to be. All was held together in holistic, platonic love, and nothing took from another for personal benefit or gain.

All was perfect. There was no wanton action that hurt another, that detracted from the beauty of the environment. Nothing was out of place; everything gushed wholesomeness; all was in harmony. From mountains that stretched to limitless heights to ants that kept to their hills, to deceased souls that merely enjoyed the presence of one another, no evil thoughts to be formed, no jealousy or lust, failure or pain.

_That_ existence was Heaven.

The relationship between the angels was no different. Each sought the best interest of the other perfectly, seamlessly, so no selfishness existed. There was no _reason_ to think of one as 'self'; love was extended to all, and love was received by all without second thought. '_Self_' did not was how they could shamelessly play, dance, relish physical contact beyond all carnal desire that was inherent in human beings. Hand holding was innocent—like children reaching out to children, friends to friends. It was about being together, sharing and delivering a sentiment that was beyond common human knowledge. When one had his or her mind opened to the truth—the real consequences of actions, the _reason_ behind actions—there was nothing that could break that fulfillment of knowledge.

But the fulfillment of Heaven was at war with the devilish savages and demonic beasts of Hell, eternally poised as enemies of all things good and right. The beings of Heaven fought hard for the consciences—and ultimately, the souls—of all species that would turn their hearts towards the will of God, the propagator of all things good. Wins and losses aside, their mission never wavered, even if the hearts of men would. That was the thought, anyway: save souls, fight for justice, repeat.

It was for this reason that heavenly beings were making more and more descents on the land of mortals: to take back what was rightfully theirs, to lead lost souls back to the course, to fight against those that would provide false paths to wholeness. Camiel understood this, as did Sariel; however, the latter had never been involved so directly in the process, and for good reason: it was bothersome to put angels of high rank through the transition, as the separation from a spiritual existence to a mortal one was excruciatingly painful. The tearing of the soul, the persona, the very _being_ was tantamount to an intellectual flaying and a physical searing as one fused into the cacophony of earth.

It wasn't something one chose to do, but was _told_ to do.

The meeting was about to commence, and several seraphim and archangels sat in majestic pearl chairs in a large room shaped like a coliseum. It had no color whatsoever, awash instead in a blinding white. Walking abreast, Sariel and Camiel arrived through a stone arch and broke from the main aisle, Sariel giving a subtle wave of his hand as each made the way to their appropriate seat as was dictated by rank. Cherubim pranced in the air near the cathedral ceiling, a few chortling and cooing in tongues never heard by any human or demon. They calmly signaled that it was time to start and floated out of sight among the ivy-wrapped balustrades.

"Archangel Sariel," called out a six-winged seraph, its voice both powerful yet melodious. Its face was covered by two of the wings, as were its feet, even as it sat; the remaining two feathered appendages extended from its back, each an endlessly rippling mass of feathers that appeared to be iridescent and transparent at the same time. It moved in waves as wind over an ocean. "We have reason to believe—even since this meeting was scheduled—that some exceptionally evil work is transpiring. As we speak, the highest order of the wretched, hellish creatures is mingling within humanity. From here we proceed with your instruction."

Sariel smiled benevolently as he stood at his station, his eyes dancing as he glanced at his immediate right. Archangel Gabriel sat next to him, returning the gesture with a quiet grin.

"This is our work," he began. "If not for the cleaning of such waste, would we need to exist for anything else other than God's pleasure?"

"I know you mean no ill intention by your levity, but, with a bit more sincerity, let us consider the situation as follows," the seraph said gravely, its face remaining covered the entire time.

The blue-haired archangel wavered slightly, and grimaced. "And the situation is…?" Sariel asked warily.

"Satan prowls the planet Earth. Not merely as a tempter and liar—a prince of falsehood working out of shadows, fear, and seeds of sin. He is of human flesh, a demon taken on the form of a _man_."

A collection of hushed whispering and head shaking traveled around the room. Pulling out her notepad, Camiel jotted down all she'd just heard, preparing to continue the tale with her lucid pen pressed anxiously to the notepad.

'_Satan prowling the earth_. _Not typical seraphim fare, surely…_'

While they sang by God's side for most of their existence, the seraphim were also terrific angels of great power…and solemn character; Camiel knew this as a keeper and scribe of information, but wondered if Sariel ever bothered to commit to memory those details of her reports. He rarely had to appear in front of the High Circle, and since his character was so care free anyway, Camiel was sure he forgot how to address these creatures so as not to '_ruffle their wings_'.

From the other side of the hall she waited patiently for the bad news, as only a seraph could report: _how to solve the problem swiftly and efficiently_.

Cocking an eyebrow, Sariel continued smiling, undeterred. "What would you have me do then?"

"As suggested by your contemporaries—most strongly by Archangels Gabriel and Raphael—you'll be sent to earth to target and monitor our opponent directly," the seraph stated matter-of-factly, its tone sad but firm. "As a benevolent angel of death strongly invoked for your protective powers, the proposal is appropriate. Once you are suitably prepared for your descent, your objective is to destroy wholly and finally. Anyone who defends the fiend can perish likewise."

Most in the room nodded unanimously in agreement. Mouth agape, the short angel looked at all of the heavenly hosts in the circular room as if they were rabid primates rather than servants of God. "Even if they are human?" he mumbled, already knowing the answer. "But we—"

"Indeed." The pearly wings shifted slightly, but never uncovered the thing's face. "Your goal is your goal, and you are to conduct whatever means necessary to achieve the end. How you manage it is up to your own creativity and devices. Prior to your descent, you'll need to be briefed on the process, as you've never experienced functioning in such an environment… We'll cover that in detail following this council."

On cue, another of the seraphim spoke up, its voice melancholy and feminine. Likewise, its face and feet were covered, but the back wings were folded neatly.

"You must understand the dangers and gravity of this situation, Sariel?" it asked in a weepy hum. "There is a certain degree of humanity you must attain in order to properly thrive on the planet. This includes affliction of conscience and a compromised intellect. You will not have all of you faculties about you as you do here. Satan's clutch is strong, and even more so when you are forced to concede your pure qualities as an angel."

Again, Sariel chuckled, this time hoping to remove any doubt in anyone's mind. "I am positive I can handle the change. These humans are nothing new to us; why should I be affected? Have we not mastered this…_transformation _process?"

The room fell silent. Those seated shuffled in their chairs, and the cherubim were now nowhere to be found. Suddenly a womanly chirp broke the silence. It came from a tall, flowing creature, terrible like the seraph but with revealed face. Its eyes were completely white and glassy like translucent marbles. The mouth frowned with sorrow, but when it spoke, its voice was strained and grated, as if perturbed.

"And your _other_ goal, which must not be forgotten, is to retrieve our '_lost property_'. You will retrieve '_Better Half_' before you return." It was more of a demand than a statement. "Let us not forget in whose hands it belongs. The Church wishes to—"

"You have nothing to worry about or fear," the archangel assured all in the room. His lavender eyes scanned the expanse, daring anyone to challenge his words. "Although I've never been to earth, I have all the information I need to persevere." He looked to Camiel, who busily scribbled across the room. "My transport has been arranged, and prep is underway."

Despite their greatness, many of the seraphim whispered in worried rasps. Their shrill language swept through the ears of all present, but was understood by only a few.

"We hope, for your sake, that your confidence is based on understanding rather than a blind acknowledgement merely based on what you've _heard," _the presiding angel said forlornly. "It's not unheard of for our most holy to transition to a _fallen_ state…"

With a clap of his hands, Sariel ended the session: "Lucifer's treachery was not a transition; it was a _choice_ to defy. And I assure you, defying authority is neither something I condone nor wish to ever execute.

"You'll have your cake and eat it too: _'Better Half' _as a palate cleanser, Satan's head on a platter for the main course."

* * *

"Don't you understand that they played you like a fiddle, Sariel?"

Like a lost child, Camiel followed the archangel as he walked around an annex off the side of a vast temple. He merely ignored her, fussing through the pages of a large book almost a third his size. Nervously, the female angel twisted thick lime-green curls of her hair, helplessly waiting for a response.

"They found me _fit_ for the job. They didn't play me like anything," Sariel countered yet again. They'd been discussing it for several minutes and he was anxious to end it. "I know you're worried, Camiel, but—"

"This mission is not all that it seems," she barked gruffly, slipping into a soft scowl. "The toll of humanity is great, as the human condition is not only physical, but mental. Mentally deciphering between wholesome activity and the distractions and temptations that the human world has to offer… Your judgment may be clouded. Your knowledge from _this _world is not transferable to the next. Can't you just call it off?"

Again, he ignored her pleas. Quickly he wrote a few names into the book he ruffled through, and after erasing another set, he placed it back on its appropriate place on a shelf. Brushing dust from his cloak, he laughed lightly, kissed Camiel on the forehead, and walked towards the exit.

"I have to do my duty, and being asked by the seraphim isn't something I can simply '_call off_'. I have the power of Heaven at my side, the heavenly hosts—armies of God—at my back… And with your guidance and knowledge, it's an instant win! What would you do if you had the chance to destroy our most formidable enemy?"

"…Know my limits and advise someone else to take the task," Camiel snapped. Her nose crunched into ugly folds above a moody pout.

"With your position and rank, you don't have many limits. So in other words…you'd be making an excuse?"

She threw her head back and whined in frustration as she stared up above; the ceiling didn't give her any support either. "Sariel, you have no idea what it's like there, and they're making you go! You're too optimistic to see the corruption that's seeping into our _own_ environment. It's almost like—"

"If you're still the most educated about trans-ethereal travel, Camiel, I'd like if you'd accompany me through the portal, please. And leave this argument for someone who means to defy his or her superiors…"

"I…I don't mean to defy my superiors…"

Begrudgingly, Potentate Camiel sauntered behind her '_superior_', for once strangely unwilling to make the trip to one of the most enchanting places she'd ever had the chance to explore.

* * *

As Camiel expected, the trip through the portal was jerky and rough. She'd made the journey hundreds of times to train guardian angels, guide them to their charges on Earth, monitor circumstances when 'miracles' (as humans called them) took place… It was normal to her now, and she expected the wear and tear to her system, as well as the inability to control her wings. Sariel, however, didn't take the transition so well. Blanketed in heavily hooded wine-red cloaks, Camiel could just barely hear her partner's intermittent gasping and brief yelps of pain as the thundering rush of wind swept past their bodies.

The tunnel of the portal became a torture chamber, the gravitational pull of earth immediately gripping their spiritual bodies as if in a vise. The archangel didn't expect it, wouldn't believe it, and then…couldn't handle it. He tried speaking, tried breaking from the current, tried _breathing_?

Camiel turned a stony face to him, almost forgetting the first time she'd undergone the transubstantiation process. "Don't struggle against it. Your lungs are rebuilding themselves to accept human air. Actually, your whole body's molecular structure is reforming…"

"—_?!_"

"And it would behoove you to control your digestive system too," she said darkly, a smirk coloring her lips. "Touching down is usually the final straw for most neophytes, and I'm not keen on being vomited on and covered in the pollution and filth that your body is currently accepting and filtering.

"And speak of the Devil… We've arrived."

In an explosive instant, the tunnel vanished and the pair slammed into what appeared to be a gigantic, moist cotton ball. But instead of cushioning them, it yielded as they broke through, stinging with microscopic burrs of ice. Several more of these followed until the angels charged into open air.

'_Clouds_,' the female thought to herself, studying the gray mounds briefly before comprehending that she and Sariel were approaching the ground more quickly than she'd wanted. The entire land was dark except for pinpricks and disconnected lines of glowing lights, indicating a city just below.

Without a word, she transferred her power into slowing their acceleration considerably, guiding them over a set of tall towers, and with great difficulty turning Sariel upright in order for him to connect with the ground properly on both feet. Floating, light as dust, Camiel glided past a street lamp and helped her partner do likewise.

They'd landed. The blast of air around them ended. And everything became quiet.

Instead of standing, the archangel merely crumpled in a maroon heap on the sidewalk. Sighing, Camiel used another burst of power to prop him up and steer him into a dark alley. Her eyes darted around to make sure no one was watching. The last thing they needed was to have kids past curfew recording them on videos or taking pictures on camera phones.

The narrow space was crowded with large metal trash bins and a few overturned cans. Something small and black darted behind a box, but neither angel paid it any attention. What was overwhelming was the stench.

'_I always forget the air is different here…_' Camiel smiled to herself, actually enjoying the foreign smells. She glanced around again, taking in the warm, quiet night. The breeze felt wet and heavy, something she'd never experienced before.

Meanwhile, Sariel slumped against a wall, his cloak catching on the rough brick as he slid down to the ground. He grabbed onto his chest, feeling something tight hitching in his body. Clicking sounds came from his throat.

"Let it in," Camiel instructed. "It's breath. Just release. The vacuum in your lungs will do the rest for you."

Immediately he began shuddering, whining, then doubled over and heaved onto the cement. He hadn't bothered pulling his hood back, and found himself sullying his bright blue hair and a portion of his clothing with whatever it was spewing from his mouth.

"Or, you could do that…" the girl grumbled. "I told you not to vomit."

"Oh God, oh God," Sariel moaned, clutching his abdomen as if to tear his guts out. "_Why have you forsaken me?! _I'm dying, I'm—"

"You're already dead." Camiel adjusted her hood and tucked her green locks behind her ears. "In a way, to transition is to die. We've degraded into a lesser state. You're lucky it's not worse. Your soul could have lapsed between dimensions and then we'd really have a case on our hands…"

He said no more, and instead sat hunched over wheezing, attempting to accept air through his mouth. Camiel let him continue to adjust and walked to the streetlight. Everything was silent, and then the sky spoke with a light sob. Weeping, weeping…the angel had never yet experienced _rain_.

It misted first, drummed second. Small dots showed on the lit part of the sidewalk, slowly engulfing the entire thing with dark circles. The drops—lines of static in an otherwise clear darkness—could be seen through the lamplight, which Camiel stepped into fully. She pulled back her hood. Rain soon soaked her skin, her hair, stinging her eyes as she looked stupidly into the water pelleting everything. She pulled the damp strands from her face like strips of neon seaweed.

"It's…it's…"

Something stirred in her to pull out her notepad and write, but something else demanded that she merely observe. The world was beautiful from this angle, and for a moment, she almost found it preferable…

'…_over Heaven_…'

She admonished herself for forgetting her purpose and quickly replaced her sodden hood before returning to Sariel. He was now standing, leaning his back to the wall, eyes closed.

"I'm very…I feel like I want to close my eyes forever," he tried explaining, ending in a whisper. "I can't describe it."

"You're _tired_. It's a common human ailment. They don't have our endless energy and regeneration of structure and being. You'll have to suffer it until you can regain enough power to compel it." Allowing him to drape an arm over her shoulders, Camiel supported him as they began walking. "You need to practice using human energy, so you're going to have to walk."

He responded with a grunt.

"I have a place for you to retire for the time being, and you can rest until you're ready to proceed," she said softly. "I'll return after you're settled. It's—"

"You aren't staying?"

The distress in his voice was very real, and very human to Camiel's ears. She felt something move inside her that she wasn't used to, but understood.

'_Human compassion_,' she noted factually. '_It rouses with the power of sadness, yet…not quite sadness. I suppose I should feel sympathetic. With his compromised intellect, he's emotionally unstable. I'll have to remind Uriel…_'

They arrived at a small apartment building, no more than three stories high. It was outdated and worn, but not dilapidated. The main door was illuminated by a dim yellowish light, and several moths gathered around it, tumbling in the glow like live confetti.

Three knocks, and it opened. A tall, lean man with rectangle glasses peered through the crack, his dark long hair framing his face. Spotting the two, he smiled.

"Was wondering when you'd arrive," came his soft voice. "I've prepared the room. Wow, Sariel, looks like your journey did a real number on you…"

"He'll be fine."

Camiel nonchalantly hauled the blue haired archangel into the building and let him collapse to the floor. The tall man winced as Sariel groaned.

"I suppose he has to learn…"

"It takes them approximately five days to understand which generic actions cause pain and which don't. Preventing that hurt takes much longer," she stated before a low laugh. "I haven't brought an archangel before, though, so we'll see how he measures up to the guardians."

The man snapped his fingers and Sariel stood on command.

"Second room on the left, please," the man demanded calmly, following the whimpering archangel as he entered through a door.

"Uriel, he's not going to be stable for a day or two," Camiel mumbled while scribbling in her notes. "You'll have to monitor him closely."

"I'm well aware by now, Camiel, how to handle transfers. I once had to go through the same thing, so… Make sure he's comfortable, and I'll wait by the front to let you out."

The one called Uriel left the two in the dark room, and Camiel carried out her final task as Sariel fell headlong into a bed in the corner. The metal frame squeaked in protest.

"I release you to this world to fulfill your sacred duty," she said firmly, holding her hand above the bed. The whimpering subsided, and Sariel cracked open his eyes. "You have the blessings of God and all the angels, wherever you go. The powers of Heaven will bear you up lest you dash your foot against a stone, and you only need to say the word when all of the members of the heavenly hosts will come to your aid."

"You never said you'd leave me," Sariel growled, a distinct change from the weak moans he was just letting out. "I can hardly function…"

"Archangel Uriel upholds this establishment as a hideout for any and all angels that serve our side. You have refuge and companionship when you need it instantly. Otherwise, your needs will be met, and you only need to say the word.

"I am needed elsewhere. _Servabo fidem_, _I will keep the faith_," she said quietly, almost forlornly.

"_Serviam_, _I will serve_," Sariel responded bitterly. He tried keeping his lavender eyes open while watching her leave, but as Camiel turned to give a final look, he was already fast asleep.

* * *

**YES, that was Latin. You can review now.**


	2. Sumiko

**The character in this chapter is an OC, but she's there to make the plot flow. Don't get all weird on me, now. I'm not bad at making original characters.**

**I can't wait until this story gets moving. I'm already lol'ing.**

**If anything needs more clarification, that means I didn't write it well, and you need to tell me in a review. Please.**

**Stealing your silkworms,  
****Kelsey**

* * *

**CHAPTER 2. SUMIKO**

Make up was one thing, heels were another, and managing both at the same time was proving to be yet _another_ tragedy that Sumiko Ueno did not want to commit to memory. But as the subway lurched away just as she approached the platform—tears forming in her big brown eyes—she knew it was going to be one of those days.

"Stupid, rotten trashy shoes," she hissed through barred teeth, pulling the shoe with the broken heel off of her foot. It had snapped when she launched through the turn-style and became wedged in the machine behind a woman who was triple her size. In a dramatic attempt at escape, she pulled from the larger woman's backside and found her foot trapped in a grate in the floor. Twist and…shout. A lot of shouting. There'd been a flourish of profanities and a brandishing of a purse as the portly woman flipped like a switch and spun with the wrath of a tiger, expecting to find a bandit tugging at her purse. It only turned out to be Miss Ueno grabbing for the first thing she could reach as she fell to the ground, and although the big lady's bag saved her from a bruised bottom, it couldn't save the heel of her shoe as it snapped in two.

'_What a morning…_' she thought silently, banking the tears and saving her mascara. She tossed the heels in a nearby trash receptacle, thankful that she kept a spare pair of sandals in her oversized bag.

Returning the way she came, Sumiko grumbled further as she searched her pockets for her cell phone.

"Missed the subway, late for the client… Could this day be any more _ludicrous_?" She flipped open the chrome cell and dialed. Ringing, waiting…two things she'd become more irritated with as the days went on. "Hello, Maeda? Yes, it's Ueno. It's a bit of a hassle for you, but could you warn my client that I'm a little off schedule? …You are _the_ best, I have to tell you, thank you so much! Please forgive me…"

She snapped the phone shut and ended the conversation.

'_This job is more stress than it's worth sometimes…_'

In truth, a _nakoudo_ was indeed a strenuous job, especially when the clientele seemed to _all_ be those dubbed as '_undesirables_' in the eyes of the Japanese. In _her_ eyes, they were _all_ undesirable, no matter what profiles her clients had, but hopefully the one today would be different.

She _always _hoped all of her subsequent matchmaking was different.

A half hour after her scheduled appointment, Sumiko pushed through the door of the office and was instantly met with the angry face of an older woman.

"We're paying _top dollar_ and you expect us to _accept_ this sort of behavior?!" she screeched, the soft folds of her face quivering. Her wrinkled brow was knit in an anger uncommon in someone her age, but Sumiko had seen it before: disgruntled parent wanting to marry off the unwilling son or daughter so that they weren't the laughing stock of the neighborhood, office, social club, etc.

"I apologize, Mrs. Hanabusa, the subway—"

"I don't care if the subway launched its maiden voyage to the _moon_; you said 12:30, I _expect_ 12:30, and it's—"

"If you find it acceptable, we'll take off20% of your total for your trouble."

"…That's…that's acceptable…"

Relieved, Sumiko threw her belongings at the front desk with Yumi Maeda, the secretary, and then took her position at her desk with the client. She opened the file gingerly and browsed the hand written responses on the form.

'_Name…Setsuko Hanabusa. Age…45. Talk about spoiled Christmas cake! This'll be great…_'

Clearing her throat, Sumiko looked the older woman straight in the eye.

"In my experience, I must tell you there're a few things here that would make your daughter seem…well…"

"_Say it_," the client growled, her eyes squinting at the younger woman with growing contempt.

"It's going to be near impossible to find a match, given these qualities. No hobbies, no employment, and the age?" Sumiko continued, adding insult to injury. "I'm surprised you didn't lie on the form—"

"And you are the best _nakoudo_ this place has to offer?!" the woman bellowed, standing quickly and shoving her chair to the side. "I could have a baboon arrange a marriage better than you!"

"Then you should do it."

The woman's nostrils flared, interpreting the insult clearly. "You've said quite enough, you little _demon_,and I demand my application fee back!"

After a brief shouting match at Sumiko (who remained silent), the woman faulted the manager of the business with poor hiring skills before slamming the door on her way out. Maeda merely turned her head towards the poor _nakoudo_, giving her a nervous grin.

"…I don't think we'll see her again," the girl mumbled weakly.

Sumiko nodded in agreement. "And that's better for both of us. Her daughter had every possible negative trait on record." Wiping her brow, she stood and grabbed her purse from the front desk. "Lunch break. I'm done for the day with bitter mothers who look like grandmas. And she probably could be one too, if her daughter could land a spouse."

She'd never had time to prepare lunch. In the end it would be cheaper and healthier, but in the _now_…she was much too busy. Venturing to the fast food district was a brisk walk away, a 5 minute jaunt if she was quick enough. She could already smell the artery-clogging when she left the office. The humid air made sure the scent of oily fries, chicken, and burgers hung in the air like a rotted example on a gibbet.

But she was hungry, and she could swallow the illness she felt when smelling the stuff, if the food could only cure the empty clawing at her stomach.

Among the lanes of shops and eateries, there was a ruckus atypical of a Wednesday afternoon. A group of people had gathered outside of an establishment that was adorned with banners and signage indicating the place as '_New!_' and '_Just opened!_'

"S…F…C?" Sumiko murmured, half to herself. An old man walked by and laughed.

"Sentucky Fried Chicken," he taught her, chuckling a bit more. "It's going to make some true competition for the MgRonald's across the way."

"You don't say?"

"Truly, and I know. I just ate there, and it was wonderful!" He looked off into the sky wistfully, as if regretting something. "I wish it weren't over…" Then he walked away.

Sumiko cocked an eyebrow and pushed through the crowd of young adults taking pictures with their cells. The line leading up to the door was moving quickly, so she decided it couldn't hurt to try something new. It was fifteen minutes before she was finally indoors, and by that time she was sweating profusely. The sun decided to beat down hotter than usual so the air conditioning was welcome (as well as the scent of lunch).

The place wasn't anything glamorous, but was clean and bright enough to feel welcoming. Candy apple red and sterile white was the decorative color palette, and between the glaring white tile floor and the bold vinyl seating, Sumiko thought the entire restaurant was very reminiscent of a diner on some Western movie.

Soon, a group of girls was the only thing separating her from placing her order. She watched and listened, becoming more and more irritated that the line seemed to permanently stop with the customers just ahead. It seemed to be more of the clerk's fault than the girls'.

"Smile again, and I'll upgrade your meal to M size for free," the boyish man said sweetly, voice dripping with want. For some strange reason, he was wearing sunglasses, in addition to his annoyingly perfect ponytail.

'_What is this guy, honestly…?_' Sumiko grumbled internally.

"We just want our food!" one of the young women snapped back. Another worker brought the tray to the counter and the customers walked away, disgruntled and flustered as they kept avoiding the obnoxious waving from the cashier. One of them whispered something that sounded like '_sexual harassment_'.

'_What a joke…_' Sumiko thought, restraining the need to roll her eyes. '_This guy's got to be the most desperate fool I've ever had the misfortune to_—'

"And what brings such a classy and professional beauty to this humble establishment?" the man crooned. "It's not every day I get to meet gorgeous people of your caliber, you know…"

"I would imagine not," Sumiko replied nonchalantly, pulling her pocket book from her purse. "Lunch set C, please. Small water. No dessert or add-ons."

The clerk gave her a quirky smile before cocking his head and punching in the code on the register. "Strictly business, aren't you! I kinda like that. Say, this meal's on the house if you could only tell me your name. It's really a small price if you think about it." Somehow the way he said '_small price_' didn't sound very _small_ at all, Sumiko thought.

"While I don't think my name is worth enough yen to pay for the meal, I'd be happy to suggest a proper outlet for catching mates, Mr. …" She glanced at the name tag on his apron.

"_You're the manager?!_"

"_Please, call me Mitsuki_," he begged pitifully, mysteriously producing his business card and eagerly shoving it towards her.

Suppressing a snarl, Sumiko pulled her own business card from her pocket and slid the little paper across the surface to prevent touching the man's hand. She grabbed her tray (and his forced card) quickly. "'_Happy Family Matchmaking_'. It's a lot easier and more socially acceptable than being a creepy stalker at a fast food chain."

As he read her name aloud from the card in the most ear-grating sing-song voice (while completely ignoring her comment), Sumiko turned away without another word, her face brick red.

* * *

Three clients later, the work day was half an hour away from being finished and it was deadly quiet. For a third time that summer the A/C had failed, and the only air circulation came through the open door, propped open with an ugly cinder block. Occasionally a car would drive by, and the cicadas would buzz lazily, but otherwise…silence.

Maeda, trying to look busy, tapped her fingers on the desk and scribbled messy circles that looked like hashed up flower tornadoes on her notepad. At the far end of the office, Sumiko sat at her desk, organizing folders and files. It was the only time the office had to clean up, as it was quite unusual for anyone to come by so near to closing. But with a quarter hour left, it happened.

The secretary looked up happily when she heard footsteps, anxious to do something more than kill brain cells with boredom. Before she had a chance to greet the visitor, though, _she_ was being addressed first by a short blue-haired man in a suit.

"Such a lovely woman shouldn't be kept hidden like a secret!" he said with a small giggle. "Now tell me, miss, where can I find Sumiko?"

Blinking nervously, Maeda pointed across the room. "She's over there, but are you looking for a _nakoudo_? Because I have this form that—"

"I'm in the market for one, yes." The girl couldn't see past the dark sunglasses, but she could tell he winked. Not that it mattered: his smile said enough to silence her.

'_I might need to take a really hot shower when I get home_…' she thought to herself, shuddering a bit. '_Creepy dark glasses? Indoors? Hentai!_'

He followed her direction and threw his arms up as he approached Sumiko's desk. "Just the one I was looking for!"

Sumiko jolted slightly at the close proximity of his voice. She heard him at the front of the room but didn't hear him walk near her space. Already, her defenses were fortified.

"So you took the proposition literally," she deadpanned, her expression emotionless as she stood from her chair. "Lovely."

Without warning (or consent), he strode around the desk, took her hand gently, and brought it to his mouth. As soft as they were, lips on her hand made Sumiko disgusted, and she soon felt bile edge its way into her throat.

"God in Heaven, I don't think I need your services if only you are in my sight," he whispered, smiling against her knuckles. The woman frowned, glaring at his screened eyes. "Sumiko, such a beautiful name, you might be an angel if I didn't know any better, I'm quite—"

"If you're _quite_ finished, you will take a seat, Mr. Sarue."

Rushing to fulfill her wishes, Mitsuki Sarue flopped into a chair on the other side of the desk and crossed his legs. "So you read my card, and memorized my name! It's a start," he said through a smile.

"It's good form, Mr. Sarue, to recall names. It's even _better_ form to not use a given name when we've only just met…"

"But with the meaning '_charcoal'_, it's so _proper_. So dark and mysterious, rough around the edges, but I'm sure you're actually quite soft—"

Slamming a thick packet of forms on the top of her desk, Sumiko fumed silently. "I don't have all day to talk about names. If you're wanting a match, we have some forms to fill out. We'll need every bit of info about you, from birthday to blood type to family history. I can start filling it out, the basics." She began scribbling out the obvious answers: _Given Name, Family Name, Gender_… Then she looked up from the paper. "Age?"

"Twenty-two."

She wrote that and a few more answers down. "Take the sunglasses off. What's your eye color?"

Strangely, Mitsuki hesitated, fidgeted in his seat, and gave a tense grin. "They're blue."

"I need to be certain," Sumiko stressed. "I can't have potentials showing up and finding out you don't look anything like your description. Glasses, please."

Slowly, he removed them and blinked several times as he adjusted to the light. He gave her a hard stare as she confirmed his statement. Masking her surprise, Sumiko frowned.

"Well, that's something new," she muttered under her breath. "Purple?"

"I prefer _mauve_."

"I prefer you not argue and make this simple," she blurted testily. The heat was getting to her, and being approached by this weird guy for business was tipping the scales. "Okay, it seems we're actually the same height…so I'll mark down my measurements. Now, how about hobbies?"

The conversation went back and forth for a while. Sumiko told Maeda to go home, and finally, at five minutes until six o'clock, the forms and information collection were finished.

"Okay, well, your part is done, Mr. Sarue," Sumiko said with a relieved sigh. "Once we find you a potential and you accept, you'll be due your deposit. Otherwise, you're all set."

"Wonderful!" he cheered, standing at full height. Sumiko followed suit. "It's going to be getting dark. Are you here all by yourself?"

"I lock up. I don't live far." She knew it was too much information given when the man perked up, an opportunity in sight.

"Then it's perfectly acceptable that I walk you—"

"How about I walk you to the door, and you can be on your way," she interrupted, anxiously rushing to the door. "Thank you for your business. We'll contact you soon."

It took all the energy Sumiko had to refrain from punching Mitsuki Sarue's shades into his eyeballs during his lengthy exit, but finally she had the office to herself. Herself, and a lingering haze of cheap cologne.

* * *

**Sorry. I couldn't help it. :|  
Reviews plz. Sank yuu bari machi.**


	3. HIATUS

**I am going on hiatus for all of my stories until further notice. I'm sorry if you were expecting updates.**

**-Kelsey**


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